


Burned but not buried

by orphan_account



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: :'3, Anxiety, Dysphoria, Established Relationship, M/M, Shopping, Trans Character, Trans Keith (Voltron), vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-02 03:40:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10936239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: So he stands in the men’s section with his head low, trying not to draw attention to himself.Keith hates shopping.





	Burned but not buried

When Keith is fourteen and trying his hardest to be taken seriously enough to be called Keith, he moves houses again. The last ones considered his backtalk enough reason to shove him out, just like the ones before them, and the house before that.

The new family takes one look at his clothes and practically push him down to the nearest department store for new ones. They give him some money, tell him to pick out what he likes, and the only rule is that it has to actually fit him.

So he stands in the men’s section with his head low, trying not to draw attention to himself.

Keith hates shopping.

He wears baggier clothes so it doesn’t draw attention to the fact that his hips curve too much, that his chest, despite his efforts, is still visible enough to be considered girly. The two sizes too big shorts are cinched around his waist by his belt, and his chest is squished down under two sports bras because if the last family caught him binding, they might have actually killed him. It’s not like he has the means to get an actual binder anyway. They don’t sell them in places like these, and he never has any money to order one.

There’s other people here, people who actually belong in this clothing section, and he wants to disappear.

He nabs a pair of jeans and a couple of shirts to try on. One of the people that works there, a guy, gives him a weird look, and Keith shudders in a breath. He looks at the jeans he has in his hand and seems to decide something.

“Those are pretty comfortable,” he says. “I’ve got a few pairs.”

Keith’s head is swimming a little, but it’s fine, because this guy isn’t calling out the obvious fact that he _doesn’t belong here_. He asks for a number for the dressing rooms in a shaky voice and locks himself behind the red plastic door.

The pants actually are comfortable, he finds, and they fit nicely. He doesn’t look terrible, and they’re his size. The shirts hug at him in a weird way that he doesn’t like but needs to get used to. This family seems big on clothes that fit.

He goes back out, and the section is all but cleared of people.

They said anything, as long as it fits. That includes underwear.

With quiet, nervous footsteps, he makes his way to the smaller aisles, and pulls off a pack of boxers. They’re cotton, soft. He shoves them between the rest of his clothes so people don’t see.

Two sports bras digging into his ribs doesn’t do anything to help him bind. He needs something with more coverage, smaller and stretchier than what he has now.

The ladies section isn’t any more inviting.

He doesn’t want to go back to the dressing rooms, so that means holding things up to his body instead. Everything is defined, and he doesn’t want breast definition, he wants the opposite. There’s one, high necked and spandex, that looks like a stretchier binder, so he takes it as a win.

Thank god for self check.

When he gets back to the house, Laura, he thinks that’s her name at least, raises an eyebrow at his clothing choices but doesn’t say anything. He releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and goes to throw everything in the washer.

Shopping doesn’t get any better when he’s older.

\---

Lance has dragged Keith to the store with him because apparently he’s worn the same thing all week and that just isn’t okay with Lance. Keith thinks it’s fine. It’s not like his clothes smell terrible, he just likes wearing the same stuff.

Clothes shopping is better with another person there, it takes some of the edge off, but his hips are still round, his chest still isn’t completely flat even with a binder, and right now, his hair’s a little longer than is considered “normal.”

He can’t shake the anxious feeling that he’s not meant to be there. Everyone calls him Keith now, but that doesn’t mean anything to a stranger.

There’s other people shopping here, and Lance is oblivious to all of them, babbling something about the color of a shirt bringing out his eyes. He holds it up to Keith’s torso, and it feels like everyone’s eyes are on him. His skin is crawling and he can feel every feminine thing about his body heightened tenfold.

It shouldn’t even be a problem for him. Girls shop in the men’s section all the time, but he’s not a girl, he’s just trying to buy himself a t-shirt without feeling like throwing up. He grabs a soft looking dark purple shirt and Lance smiles at him.

“There you go! Something that compliments you. Not just boring old black. We should get you something blue too.”

He nods jerkily, staring at the shirt. It’ll be tight, like the one he’s wearing now. He almost wishes he was fourteen again, with giant clothes hiding every abnormal aspect of his body. He doesn’t want things touching him so closely, showing off to everyone that his torso isn’t boxy enough, that everything looks too soft, that fat hugs him in places it shouldn’t.

“Hey,” Lance says gently. “Are you okay?”

“Yup,” he says, grabbing a different shirt from the shelf. “We got what we came here for so—”

“Whoa whoa whoa, you’re not trying them on?”

“I know my size, Lance. I’ve got two shirts that aren’t black or grey. Now can we go?”

There’s another guy next to them, pawing through shirts on a hanger. He eyes Keith with something like disdain, and he can’t take it anymore, he needs to leave.

Taking the shirts, he stalks his way up to the front, with Lance doing his best to catch up to him. Self check keeps not registering the shirts as in the bag, and all he wants is to get out of the store and back in Lance’s car so he can breathe. Lance is trying to figure out what he did wrong, attempting to fix the situation by not overwhelming Keith, but it’s way too late for that.

Once he finally gets his receipt he drags himself outside and into Lance’s car, he drops the bag on the floor and squeezes his eyes shut, exhaling roughly.

Lance is in the driver’s seat with this concerned confused look on his face.

“Sorry,” Keith mumbles into the heavy atmosphere of the car.

“What happened?”

“I don’t…” his heart’s still smashing against his ribs and his head’s all dazey. “It’s fucking stupid.”

“Was it something I did?”

“No!” Keith folds himself down to be level against his thighs. “No. I just don’t like shopping for clothes.”

“What? Dude, we poke around in the clothing section all the time.”

“It’s not serious then. And I can, I don’t know, deflect the fact that we’re in the men’s section onto you?”

“Keith—”

“That’s shitty, I know. But it never feels like I’m meant to be there. Whatever I do, it’s like everyone’s staring. Because I’m not- my body doesn’t look ‘guy’ enough to be there. Everything’s clingy and there’s too much fucking hip on my hips. And I know it should be okay because girls shop in the guy’s section, but I’m not a girl and I don’t look like a guy. Nothing I do makes it better and sometimes people _actually_ stare and then it’s ten times worse because I’m right about the fact that I’m not supposed to be there!”

He grips at the plastic bag between his fingers. Lance is leaning on the steering wheel, head resting on his arms.

“Sorry,” Keith says again. “I’m sorry you have to deal with my fucking body shit all the time.”

“Don’t apologize.”

It’s quiet again.

“For the record, I like your hips. I know you don’t, so it probably doesn’t help much, but I think they’re nice.”

“Thanks,” he says quietly.

“And feel free to deflect on me in the men’s section anytime, okay? I don’t mind. People are shitty.”

Lance’s hand slips into Keith’s, and he breathes out a sigh.

“You are definitely man enough to shop in the men’s section. I mean, come on, with a name like Keith, how could you not be?”

He snorts out a laugh. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re Keith, and you’re a boy, and you’re _my_ boy. You shouldn’t have to think of yourself as a ‘girl’ just to get through buying some shirts.”

“Yeah, that was pretty dumb.”

“No,” Lance says gently. “It’s kinda sad, but not dumb.”

Keith hums in response, looking at the bag of offending shirts.

“You wanna go smell a bunch of candles we’re never gonna buy?” Lance sits up all the way, stuffing his keys in his pocket.

“Yeah,” Keith says, getting up. “Let’s go smell some candles.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hi today i went shirt shopping and also i fucking hate myself


End file.
